Free Legacy by Jeanette Baker Page B

and the clear water of the richest salmon river in Britain reflected the brilliant blue of the sky. They dined on oatcakes, cheese, and cold chicken. When Katrine handed him a linen napkin filled with criachan , a sweetened mixture of oats, nuts, honey, and whiskey, he started to divide it in two.
    “No.” Her hand on his arm stopped him. “’Tis all for you.”
    He looked at her small waist and remembered the slim, long legs outlined in the breeches she had worn on her journey to Scone. Richard deplored the current fashion that demanded women be thin to the point of emaciation. “Your waistline won’t be affected by a morsel this size, Katrine. Are you sure you won’t share this with me?”
    She laughed. “You’re very flattering, but it isn’t that. Sweets don’t agree with me. It started when I was a child. The least bit of sugar makes me tired and anxious. If I have a great deal, I fall down in a faint.” She shrugged her shoulders as if tired of the subject. “I don’t think of it much. As long as I eat properly, I’m as healthy as a horse.”
    He had slipped the criachan back into the napkin and lay back on the blanket, his arms under his head. “I don’t care a great deal for sweets myself,” he said gently.
    Katrine removed her jacket and lay back on her elbows beside him. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the sky, welcoming the kiss of the sun on her cheeks. The heat made her drowsy. She was content with the unexpected beauty of the day, the gentle lapping of the river, the drone of bees, the muffled nickering of the horses, and the golden-haired Englishman lying by her side. She was almost asleep when his voice startled her.
    “What is James Murray keeping from me, Katrine?”
    She wet her lips and turned to face him. It did not occur to her to tell him anything less than the truth. “He expects a French invasion. Charles Stuart will sail to Scotland with an army and challenge the elector.”
    Richard breathed a sigh of relief. “Is that all?”
    “Isn’t it enough?” Katrine asked indignantly. “If your King George were aware of such a plot, he would quake in his boots.”
    Richard studied her flushed passionate face and silently cursed Prince Charles Edward Stuart for the power he held over the Highlanders. If their bonny prince attempted to bring his foolish dreams to fruition, this girl and her family would be ruined, as would half the clans in Scotland. For some inexplicable reason, the thought incited Richard to a murderous rage.
    “Scotland is a far different place than it was thirty years ago, Katrine. There are British forts, three hundred miles of road and over forty bridges to enable government troops to penetrate the mountains. Companies of your own Highlanders have been recruited to keep order.”
    “We will not be alone.”
    “Oh, but you will,” he countered. “There are many who drink to ‘the King over the Water,’ but they will not risk their fortunes to help him. Charles will have no allies in England, and the French have already abandoned one such expedition. He will have to rely on the Highlands, and as you know, there are many who are not Jacobites.”
    “You know a great deal about us, m’lord,” replied Katrine. “How is it that you are here, in Scotland, when your government surely needs you at home?”
    He told her, knowing he should not admit it but realizing she probably knew already. James Murray was a shrewd politician. Most likely he had invited his lovely niece to Scone in the hopes of loosening the English major’s tongue. “Your uncle and my late brother became acquainted while they were both members of the House of Lords,” he explained. “We have a slight family connection. Somewhere back in time I had a Maxwell ancestor as do the Murrays. When rumors of a Jacobite landing circulated through Parliament, I was the obvious choice to gauge the temperament here in Scotland. Your uncle appeared pleased when I suggested the visit.”
    “Is